Fix You
by kittymchale
Summary: The grin was painted on my face, barely allowing to be washed off every once in a while. Little did anyone else know, it was a grimace in a trouty-mouthed disguise. SONGFIC.


**_A/N: if this has been done before, someone pleeeease tell me so I can take it right down._**

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><p>I know everyone has their bad days. It's normal. Every once in a while, a day sneaks up on you containing nothing but sadness, pain and regret. Everything hurts. Your chin hangs a little lower, everything coated with a filmy, stinging gray. Those are okay once in a while. A day filled with tears is okay once every few weeks. I wasn't so sure about having one of those days every single day of my life.<p>

When I moved to Lima, I thought my life was finally going to turn around. I thought I could use my musical talent to my advantage, showcasing my abilities to people that would actually care about them. For a while, it felt like that was going to happen. I made some friends. I had a girlfriend. The grin was painted on my face, barely allowing it to wash off every once in a while. Little did anyone else know, it was a grimace in a trouty-mouthed disguise.

_**When you try your best, but you don't succeed.**_

I honestly did try. I tried to fit in. I tried to work out every day, avoiding almost... all food, just to keep my image up. For a while, my mom was getting honestly scared that I wasn't taking enough in to support football and glee club and whatever else I did. I tried to do math and english with my dyslexia. I tried to avoid everyone's taunting glares as I tried to keep the correct grammar in all of my papers and not mix so many freaking letters up. I tried to make quarterback, only to be pushed out by someone's gigantic body pushing me to the ground, only to be beaten out by dreamboat Finn Hudson and his stupid cheese sandwich.

I remember that day. I was in the moment, the bright lights beating down on my neck. The panting of the rest of the team was loud in my tired ears, spitting out the plays we had rehearsed so many times. It was clockwork, our bodies moving across the field exactly in the same positions we had practiced so many times before. The wind danced across the painted grass, a few stray leaves getting stuck in the mud. The time began clicking down, the blurred masses of players more and more difficult to distinguish. Before I knew it, a deafening crack was heard across the wet field, followed by a strangled scream escaping my lips. There was no more sound, only the loud, watery whimpers and "Make it stop!" screams wracking my body. The pain was unbearable as I was carried off of the school grounds, transported right to the hospital. The thing that hurt worse than the piercing pain of the displaced bone in my chest was the fact that Finn and grilled cheesus ended up saving the day. He was the one that got to keep the spot as I sat on the bench during practices. He was the one who had all of the popularity and girls after I broke my bones for a sport I didn't even like that much.

I was the stupid one on the team. I was the one that was deemed "illiterate" and "retarded" over a stupid disability that I didn't ask for. I couldn't help that numbers seemed to switch themselves around as I looked at them, being forced to look back several times before I finally got it right. I had to deal with sentences not making sense to me because "your" and "you're" seemed to be in the wrong places and stupid word endings seemed to be tacked on to places they didn't belong.

I tried the hardest to keep up an image of the "perfect dreamboat". The "straight, blonde, beautiful jock". The one who was invited to all the parties. The one who could do no wrong. One little problem. I didn't fit into any of that.

My hair was fake... well, the color was.

I wasn't beautiful. I literally fasted and worked out and stood in front of that unforgiving mirror pinching the skin on my stomach, wishing to cut it all off and jump into someone else's. I would sit in front of the mirror, face contorting and eyebrows furrowing as if I was about to sob. I sucked in as much air as I could, never allowing the tears to spill.

_** When you get what you want, but not what you need.**_

I wasn't... straight. Turning myself around was something I tried to accomplish every day of my life. Everything just turned into a beard, which is kind of what I wanted. Quinn was first. I know that I hurt her. I know she hurt me. Just because I didn't exactly feel love for her didn't mean that she could cheat on me and nothing would be wrong. Santana was next. Ha. She was just as gay as I was. I don't care what anyone said, but I could tell all feelings between us were platonic. The handholding was a disconnected mingling of our skin. I didn't feel a reaction. The sparks didn't trail through my body like it was supposed to. Nothing felt like it was supposed to. Things fizzled out between us and then, I was alone.

Again.

All I knew was I didn't need that poison in my life.

_**When you feel so tired, but you can't sleep.**_

_** Stuck in reverse.**_

I knew things were getting increasingly worse when I could hear my parents arguing through the thin walls of our house. Stevie and Stacy would frequently patter over to my room, knocking on the door and asking if they could "sleep in Sammy's bed instead". I would feel something stinging the backs of my eyelids, the tears never spilling over. Even with Stacy's fingers creeping up to wrap around mine, I didn't cry. My eyes would just keep open, staring up at the ceiling.

_**When the tears come streaming down your face.**_

_** When you lose something you can't replace.**_

I could remember Stacy's eyes as we came home to our house, our things sitting outside on the lawn and the door of our familiar house locked so we couldn't get inside. Stevie's cries of protest as he jiggled the doorknob, only to be left with defeat... simply broke my heart. My dad calmly told us to get into the car, my mom pounding desperately at the door. Her screams told us to go away, my dad taking us straight to my grandmother's house. Stevie's forehead was pressed to the window, fog and tear streaks forming on the glass. Even as I laid on the musty floor for the single night we stayed at my grandmother's, no tears would come. Just an empty, burning pain in the pit of my stomach.

_**When you love someone, but it goes to waste.**_

_** Could it be worse?**_

Out of all of the trouble I had been through, this was the part that hurt the worst. The part that singlehandedly shattered my spirit.

I remember the windy day I was sitting on the bench outside of the dirty motel, my knees pulled up close to my face. The secondhand jacket fished out of my dad's suitcase was wrapped tight around me, the sleeves slightly too large for my arms. They dangled over my fingers, forcing me to roll them up everytime I needed a free hand. Kurt had told me a few days prior to this day he would come by and lend me some clothing, the clothes I had too worn to wear any longer. He might have been the one I was waiting for on that day, but maybe I was just waiting for a stupid miracle I knew would never come.

A few minutes slid by before I saw two hazy figures in the distance. I squinted, making out that they were hanging on to each other's hands and laughing about something. I recognized the slender legs of the taller one, the white boots and the scarf dangling around his neck. It was Kurt, hanging on to the hand of the stupid freaking hobbit that I _knew _he shouldn't be with.

...

That was rude.

Everyone has the right to be with whoever they want, but at that moment, I felt the deep, stinging pain in the pit of my stomach. I didn't know if I was going to throw up or scream, but the bubbling in my stomach almost killed me.

I realized then that the waking up late at night, searching the space next to me for someone that was never there meant something. The way my gaze would linger upon Kurt's face as he passed meant more than I thought. The way my heart physically ached every time I saw him with someone else... meant something.

I liked him.

I liked him more than you would like a best friend.. or a glass of kool-aid.

I liked him like... a boyfriend.

I clenched my eyes shut, expecting the warm, salty tears to spill down my cheeks. Once again, they didn't come.

_**Lights will guide you home**_

_** And ignite your bones**_

_** And I will try to fix you**_

He pulled the tan jacket over my shoulders, gazing in approval at the mirror. A tiny smile toyed with the corners of his lips, nodding.

"It looks great," He stated, eyes glancing over me. I pulled it off quickly, feeling almost like I was invading a space that belonged to Kurt. I mean, it was comfortable. His scent still lingered in the fabric, inviting me to take it all in. Vanilla and cinnamon... and some kind of flower. I couldn't tell. Folding it gingerly, it laid on the vacant motel bed. The box of clothes he had brought was set next to it, trapping the corner of the blanket.

"T-thanks, Kurt. I really appreciate it," I told him, giving him a loose hug outside of the motel room. I didn't want to let him go. I swore my blood had turned to concrete, preventing me from releasing him. The hug had ended, Kurt adjusting his hands over his bag strap.

"I have no problem fixing you up," A small chuckle was in his voice, turning to walk away. "Good luck, Sam." It seemed that in an instant, Kurt had been off, walking away into the dim glow of the street lights. I took in a shaky breath, the tightening in my throat telling me to let the tears out. They never came.

_**High up above or down below**_

_** When you're too in love to let it go**_

I wore the jacket a few days later, a gentle comfort after my guitar, Petunia, was pawned. My guitar was my lifeline, the blood that coursed through my veins. Music was the machine that kept me alive in times of trouble. Giving up the thing I loved the most was one of the most painful experiences of my life. I just loved it _so damn much. _

I quickly thanked Kurt for the clothes again in the hallway as he saw me wearing the jacket that he hung over my shoulders just a few days prior. He smiled warmly, patting me on the arm and telling me it was no problem.

That night, I kept the jacket at my side, reminding me that I did have some comfort somewhere. I gazed into the box of assorted clothing, seeing a faded blue t-shirt on the top. Picking it up, my fingers ran over the stretched fabric and worn out bulls-eye. A small note was folded up and paperclipped to the collar. Unfolding it, I read the scribbly writing.

_Sam, _

_ You must have left this in the bathroom by mistake._

_ I washed the slushie stain out and sewed the rip on the back._

_ With love,_

_ Kurt Hummel_

_**But if you never try, you'll never know**_

_** Just what you're worth.**_

"Sam!" A breathy voice from behind me, joined with the sound of feet slapping against the ground as they ran. "Sam!" Kurt's fingers extended, holding my arm back. He stopped, attempting to catch his breath. Coughing, he composed himself. Kurt stood up straight, smoothing his shirt. An envelope was extended to me, my name scrawled on the front, "Happy birthday."

The first 'happy birthday' I had gotten all day.

I gingerly lifted the flap, pulling the card out. It was hand-drawn, printed on nice paper. It was a silly, cartoon doodle of Kurt and I trying on clothes. The inside had a small message, printed neatly in careful writing.

_I hope you have an amazing birthday, Sam. You totally deserve it _

A small guitar was drawn next to the second message.

_Don't forget how to play! Your guitar skills are worth so much!_

With a half-smile from me, Kurt squeed and flitted away.

_**Tears stream down your face**_

_** I promise you I will learn from my mistakes**_

_** Tears stream down your face**_

_** And I...**_

The worn, frequently plucked strings still felt the same under my callused fingers. The light brown wood was still polished with a few dings and scratches in the side. The case was still covered in stickers I had collected over the years.

I stared up at Finn and Rachel, a wave building up inside of me. I glanced around the room, seeing the clothes, my happy siblings, my guitar, the note, the card, the mirror, the newly written, proofread report on the desk...

A ball of something was wracking my insides. My throat felt as if it had a ring around it, my hand protectively moving up to my eyes. All at once, I could finally feel the tears drip down my tired face. I muttered something about crying as Stacey threw her arms around me. She knew I hadn't cried before then, resting her cheek on my shoulder.

"Don't cry, Sammy!" She whimpered, tightening her grip. It's like the tears were a relief, my life possibly turning up a little bit. I let myself down, sitting down and giving up. I didn't chase after anything. I didn't go after what I wanted, which was something that I had learned from Kurt. It was a mistake, and from that point on, I knew I had to fix them.

The next day, Stacey and Stevie hung off of my hands, dancing and singing with me and the rest of the Glee club. Kurt came over to me about halfway through the song, giving me a bright smile and a tight hug.

Everything was going to be okay.

_**Lights will guide you home**_

_** And ignite your bones**_

_** And I will try to fix you.**_


End file.
